


Broken Wing (Discontinued Due to Lack of Movtivation)

by Lostflamefox



Series: Wings [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Birdtale, Birds, Birdtale, Curiosity soul trait, F/M, First chapter is an A/N, Reader Insert, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is a bird enthusiast, Sans is Injured, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, surface - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-19 21:23:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostflamefox/pseuds/Lostflamefox
Summary: (Y/n) is a bird enthusiast that lives on the outskirts of Seattle, Washington. Her work isn't very steady, often leaving her with the bare essentials for periods of time - ranging from days to months, though not much longer than that. During such a period, she headed out into the wilderness to a spot she knew was popular for birds, but what she finds is more valuable than any picture she could've taken.(I have run out of motivation for this one, I'm sorry. What I have now is good enough to stay on my account, but I will be trying Birdtale again. Feel free to read what I have, but don't expect more.)





	1. A/N

Hello! I'm back at it again with another fanfiction to add to my growing list of things I won't have the proper inspiration for, if any at all! I did this a long time ago on Quotev, and it ended up being not-too-popular but still decent, reaching past 20 readers. Amazing, I know. I didn't quite like the writing I did on it at the time, and after 30-something pages I gave up and never continued it what I think was chapter two. One of my close friends was in it, and she asked me yesterday about it, and if I was still working on it. I'd deleted it, and she seemed disappointed. So I'm here, and trying a second attempt - hopefully this one will be much better. Don't expect updates for chapters very often, it usually takes me awhile to come up with what I want the chapter to look like, then actually write it.

While you wait, however, I have (mostly) good other works that I work mainly on (that are also Sans x Readers)! The one I have the most inspiration for at the moment is Abomination, a Horrortale version, and it has the most of a chapter count, and the most pages. Though I guess Archive doesn't really... count stuff by pages. It's 63 pages currently on Quotev, with about 4-ish chapters, excluding the Halloween Special I did. I recommend it if you want nightmares. I'm still trying to muster up inspiration to start the next chapter of my Underfell Sans x Reader, where the reader's bipolar. I was like 'haha, gonna work on it soon!' like a few weeks ago.

_sweatdrop_

I might even end up re-doing that one, which, oh boy, would be horrible to do with all the PROGRESS I'd made. And it's ALREADY a remake, so it would be the third try- oh, right, you came here for Birdtale. I guess it'll be about a week, maybe a bit more or less, until the first chapter is out. Good - or half-decent - stuff takes time, ya'know? Hope you guys understand, which, I bet you will, or at least begrudgingly wait while I type my ass off.

Stuff to expect, in basics:

I plan for this to be fairly fluffy, though a little late in the game, understandably. I like my pacing, and I'm trying to work on it. I mean, for example, I haven't even introduced Sans yet in the Horrortale fanfiction. Lucky you, however, that he'll be introduced fairly soon.

There will be violence. I mean, the name of the fanfiction is 'Broken Wing'. Bodes well for Sans, as you can guess. You can't hand me something to write and expect it to be violence-free.

I don't know an awful lot about birds, so I'm gonna be  _winging it._ Hahaha, get it?... I know, I'm not really funny. Google's fucking great, though, all sorts of useful shit it can offer me. I got a whole wiki page of Washington birds to work with, and bird anatomy images. I already know bird skulls really well, since I've drawn them a lot before, using references to get a real realistic look, as my style is. But you can't really... use bird skulls... so... the only shit I know by heart is useless.

Hope you enjoy. Don't expect anything too soon, guys.


	2. Chapter One

Decaying needles and leaves fallen from autumns passed coated the forest floor, dappled by warm summer sunshine. A chill tried to cling from the spring, but the sun had come out from the clouds, bathing the forest in the warmth and sunlight it had waited for. It was the afternoon, so the sun was directly above; shadows loomed deep in the thickets of wood, but where the light touched the vegetation it seemed to glow with life. Moss thrived on almost every surface, and vines clung to branches and trunks. Shrubs and herbs, even krummholz trees soaked in what there was to offer, pushing through the layer of dead and into the fresh air that was still thick with humidity.

A wide river seemed to cleave the forest in two, winding around small moors and meadows, splitting patches of thick and thin woods. Much of the river pooled into sandy areas filled with sediment, where stepping stones and boulders poked out of the sluggish current to provide warm basking stones, or ways to cross for the land dwellers that didn't want their feet getting wet. Stretches of sand, rough soil, grit, and gravel spanned the banks, where the waters turned muddy and offered shelter and cover for small fish or crustaceans. Rapids were sparse, in the thinnest areas of the river, ready to whisk anything away that got caught in the pull, all the way to the other side, to be thrown into the calm waters of the next pool.

Reeds sprouted at the pools, near the banks. Black cottonwood trees flocked to the edges of the river, their broad green leaves reaching high towards the clear blue skies. Algae and moss clung to the sides and sometimes the tops of boulders and stones, either offering a better hold or a deadly slip. Cattails clustered around in the reeds on some of the sandy banks bordering a moor, with bulrushes and flowering rushes, the small flowers bloomed delicately amid the stalks of green. Birds were very popular at the river, flocking from all places of the forest to a place plentiful with a bounty of fish; they stalked in the pools and rapids, on the banks and mid-river, even nested in the branches of the trees riverside.

Beside the river in a valley was a grove of trees, tall ones of various species, evergreen and dotted with deciduous. The branches twisted and gnarled together high above, creating somewhat of a ceiling above the forest floor in patches, though thick rays of light shone through the big gaps. A maze of leaves and small twigs created a playground for the many birds that chose that spot as a good nesting area, and provided many good areas to make nests. Crows found that place very popular, the bulky nests showing up with at least one in every three trees; either on forks of tall branches, or nestled under the arching, above-ground roots of some of the trees, hidden by undergrowth and shrubs, ferns and herbs that grew beautifully in what sun was provided in the shafts of yellow light.

Clucks, garbles, caws, trills, cries, and other notes rose into the air, accompanied by the other sounds of the woods. The wind whistled between the trunks and branches of the trees, creating a ripple across the green stalks, needles, and leaves of all plants it passed through, and even disturbed the surface of the river. The decaying layer of vegetation was stirred about by the same wind, though most of it stayed in the thick mass. The river created noise as well, a soft murmur as it cascaded along between the boulders and stones, and crashing, churning noises to nearly drown out the noise of the birds at the rapids. A twig made a sharp snapping noise as it was stepped on, though went unnoticed to the roosting birds as a figure entered their peaceful grove.

It went noticed to the figure, who winced, looking around warily for any signs of alarm amid the clusters of birds way above. No birds retreated, so the woman's tense muscles relaxed a little. For safe measure, she made her way quietly over to a moss-coated boulder and crouched close to it, resting her elbows onto the springy clumps of green, then scanned her surroundings to make sure a second time that she hadn't disturbed any of the wildlife.

Her (e/c) gaze swept around all of the nests. One of her hands fiddled with the moss subconsciously, then reached around to root through the camouflage-print backpack she wore. She brought the black camera to her front, and shouldered the backpack carefully onto the ground beside her. She rooted through the bag again to bring out a small tripod, and in just a minute her camera was set up on the mossy boulder. Her (h/c) was easy to get out of her face, tied into a rough and messy ponytail that would hold just long enough to get the job over with, thrown over her shoulder. Her elbows planted firmly onto the moss as she got comfortable, leaving heavy imprints.

The comfortable temperature compared to the previous week's cold had been unexpected, which had left her in warmer clothing than she would have normally chosen. Her top was a simple black t-shirt under a thin camouflage jacket, making her almost blend into the background; the cost was that her arms were sweaty and itchy in some places, and her back felt like it had warm water drenching her t-shirt. Each gust of wind made the fabric send a chill all the way to her spine, which was a comfort. Her bottoms were well-worn black jeans and just as worn brown boots. They had seen many trips in their lifetimes, and it showed like battle scars. Rips and tears from unconventional perching areas exposed a few places of her skin, a few of the smaller rips nearly patched up by the caking of mud and decay that coated them now. They looked scuffed and dirty beyond anything a washing machine could fix in one wash, but that worked to her advantage for more camo to help her blend in. The thin socks she wore had a hole in one of them, rubbing the exposed skin raw against the uneven, uncomfortable insides of the boot.

Her toes scrunched along with the side of her face as she concentrated to find the best pictures she could capture. The birds there seemed restless, moving from branch to branch to perch like an avian version of musical chairs. This came with the threat of blurred shots, which weren't appealing to anyone. Quality was better than quantity, considering the sheer amount of bird pictures the internet had to offer. Experience triumphed the circumstance, however, and very few of the pictures came out as a blur. The ones that did blur made her face scrunch up a little more in disappointment, and her elbows pressed with more pressure into the springy moss they laid on.

 The perfect photo showed itself when a northwestern crow looked ready to dive down to the forest floor. As soon as it started its plummet and spread its black wings she had taken a flurry of pictures in hopes that a few wouldn't blur. The crow landed and momentarily perched on a root, which she got a few shots of as well.

A cramp made itself known in her legs an hour later from holding the position longer than she usually did. The joint in her elbow creaked from the force she was pressing. One last picture of a Steller's jay that had wandered into the grove and she turned off her camera, packing everything back into the backpack and slinging it onto her shoulders once again. She stood up to her full height, which was rather short at just one inch over five feet, and stretched as much as she was willing to without alerting the birds, which felt good for her legs and elbows, and her lower back.

Feathers were scattered around the floor of the grove, most of them black from the many crows that lived in the branches above. With a quick look at them, she summarized they were in good condition, so she made her way around to pick them up. The feel of crow's feathers always was enjoyable to her, especially when she ran her finger along the side and smoothed the vane, and sometimes she liked hearing the little crunch of the rachis as she crushed it, though only with too poor quality feathers to sell. It was as if she was petting a real live bird, and it wouldn't fly away. She wondered if the wings still felt as smooth as the side of the feather did.

Halfway through collecting them she sorted them by species they belonged to. She tied them into bundles with hair ties, careful not to crush the rachis to the ones she would sell, and put them into her backpack. A lot of them, but not most, were not good enough to sell. They either had pre-crushed rachis, were missing sections of the feather, or weren't the right texture to her fingers that she considered they needed to have. She continued on her task of collecting the feathers, still wary of where she stepped in case it made too much noise.

At the roots of an engelmann spruce she found an odd feather. It was from a crow, but it was nearly as big as any crow she'd ever seen. It didn't look like any species of crow she knew, either, but she knew it was from a crow. She gently picked it up to inspect it, and found that it had a light purple sheen that gave the feathers a slightly darker black look. It was a primary flight feather as well, but she had a feeling it wasn't lost in a molt.

The calamus, at the end, was coated in a bit of blood, like it had been plucked rather forcefully from whatever gigantic bird it belonged to with an extreme amount of force. Her face scrunched as she studied it, then looked around to see if she could catch any traces of the bird the feather belonged to.

A foot above her head on the tree trunk of the spruce was a small amount of dried, smeared blood. The bird had probably smacked into the tree right around the time of the injury, but she doubted the trunk was what caused it. A trail of stirred leaves led out of the grove a few feet away, with trace amounts of crimson dried on whatever the wound had touched. She figured it probably got one of its huge wings caught or impaled on something, hit the tree, ricocheted to the ground, then tried to get to some kind of shelter by ways other than flying. Luckily the dragged trail was quite obvious and not very hard to follow, so she set off to find the bird, a little worried about its health. Not to mention that she was driven by an extreme curiosity of the unknown.

While walking she pondered what kind of bird could possibly have a primary flight feather that large. It seemed like a feather to come off of a griffin or some other feathered mythical creature. That wouldn't explain why it was a crow's. No place on the planet had crows even nearly as large as the feather she held suggested. If she found the bird this came from, she might become famous from the discovery. It reminded her of the huge Thunderbird myth, and the many so-called sightings of it people had claimed to have seen. A black and white, grainy picture came to mind; the one all over the internet of the man standing next to a bird twice his size.

She wondered if maybe she'd found one. The feather certainly matched the description of the Thunderbird. The only so-called body found of one was shot down by two Arizona men, as the story goes, but they had described a pterodactyl. Excitement compelled her to walk a little faster along the trail. What if she found a real, actual body of a Thunderbird? She would be famous beyond what she could conceive if she could get the body back to town.

A sudden thought struck her, causing her to pause in her steps.

It might be still alive. A bird that large could probably kill her effortlessly, even in an injured state. Being injured might drive it to attack even more in its panic, and she had no idea what a bird that large could be capable of.

... With that, her steps became a lot more cautious, making sure she had no chance of being detected. One glance to her left and she saw what she had been hearing above the bird's calls on her walk - a section of rapids on the river, a little more fierce than the other rapid bends she had seen. Water sprayed upwards in a small waterfall section in the middle, the crystal-clear water churning bubbles together until she couldn't see much under the surface, especially at the distance she stood from them. The drag marks led towards the tree line, though didn't quite break it, and she slowed to a stop to see where they ended.

They stopped at the base of a krummholz mountain hemlock that didn't seem more than a tall shrub of evergreen. Tangled in and sleeping amidst the swaths of green was something she would have never guessed to exist. One look at it and her mind was muddled, trying to comprehend what it was, and how it was alive... the very thought that it existed seemed wrong in so many ways.

Skeletons are, for good reason, seen only as being the bodies of dead and decayed animals. Every connection of skeletons and death for her was challenged, since what was sleeping in the krummholz tree was a living one. It wasn't one of a bird, either; it was a human skeleton, though not quite. The skull was rounded in a way that seemed more cartoonish and comical, unlike the narrow skulls humans had to fit in their heads. The bone of its face was malleable, proved by its closed eye sockets. The nasal cavity was smaller than she deemed usual. The teeth seemed to fit into a lower lip made out of bone, and were curved into an uneasy smile. Although the skeleton seemed human, and the anatomy was very, very similar, there were extra bones she didn't remember there being. Probably to help hold it together, since it had no flesh to hold it like it should have.

True enough to the feather, the skeleton had the most beautiful pair of wings she had ever seen; they were extremely large, and didn't fit in the krummholz's branches, so they were spread out and gave the bush a somewhat illusion of having a pair of sleek, purple-sheened wings of a crow she still couldn't identify, if it belonged to any existing species at all. She spotted the wound almost right away, near the alula - the top part of the wing, the last tuft of down feathers covering the middle primary feathers. A branch had impaled the wing there, going through the meat, probably shattering some of the ulna. That wasn't a pretty injury; that skeleton would not be able to fly.

Despite the logical fallacies that she figured out didn't apply to the skeleton, it wore clothes. Orange-tinted aviator's goggles looked close to slipping off of the skeleton's head, the strap having a tear almost all the way through on the side. It wore a thick black parka with a light gray fur hood, with a dark gray t-shirt underneath, like a crow's feather pattern. It also wore black sweatpants, and black slippers. The slippers had talons sticking out of the front that she grew wary of, since they looked rather sharp; they seemed to be attached rather well to his feet, and flexed slightly in his sleep. Hopefully those were only for perching, since they made her anxious by looking at them. The entire ensemble resembled her black jeans and boots - torn. Likely from the same cause of the injury on the skeleton's wing.

Also against logic, the skeleton's chest moved up and down in a little less than steady motion, like breathing. The trance of sleep the skeleton seemed to be in was extremely light and uneasy, probably closer to being semi-unconscious than anything that gave it rest. She took an unsure step forwards, unsure of what to do in the situation. She thought less of how famous she would be if she proved to the world a creature like that existed. She'd always had a passion for birds of all species, and seeing one - even if it didn't seem much like a regular bird - in such an injured state was extremely depressing. She knew she had to do whatever she could to help it.

The tricky part was figuring out HOW to help it.

She took a step forward, realizing she didn't quite check what she was stepping on first.

_Crunch._

Brittle leaves were crushed noisily underfoot.

The skeleton's eye sockets practically flew open at the noise, and little white pupils that floated in the dark abysses peered at her through the bush. Half a second later the bush was shaking violently as the skeleton attempted to escape its grasp, letting out a loud, deep squawking noise of pure alarm. Both of the wings flapped a few times in vain, the injured one seizing up and splaying out to the side as the other still tried to dislodge itself from the branches. In its panic it couldn't make it out of the bush.

At this display, she'd taken a few steps back to try and put some distance between them. Distance seemed to calm it down a little when it'd noticed, relaxing a little to slide out of the tree with only a single flap of its huge wing. The other wing was still splayed out as it landed with a soft  _thump_  on the ground below the tree, giving her extremely wary looks. She glanced around a bit, and took a very unsure, insignificant step forward to close the gap by an inch or so. "... Hello," she attempted a greeting, managing to keep her voice even. If she spoke a single syllable more it would've cracked.

It didn't react in any way except shying backwards, shoving its back against the tree. The more she looked at the skeleton, the more she assumed it was probably a male - the deep squawk was something to go by as well. What would she say next?

'Are you okay' had the most obvious answer. 'Let me help you' seemed a little too forceful, since he looked so frightened. Did he even understand her? Sure, he had clothes, but... maybe he didn't speak the same language. The lack of control in the situation was driving her crazy, and she had to drop the feather before she could crush the rachis accidentally. She'd been very close to. The effect of hearing a rachis crunching - his own rachis - might freak him out and make him fear her further, which was the opposite of what she wanted.

Deep breaths.

Everything'll turn out okay.

Inhaling slowly, she exhaled evenly. Get it together. She looked up from the ground to him, to see next to no change. He was still rather tense, curling into a half ball and covering his body with his good wing. She winced to see his bad wing shudder and shake as he tried to do the same, but it stayed splayed. "... Do you understand me?"

He nodded, hesitantly.

Progress. Progress was good. They were getting somewhere.

"I have... a lot of questions. They can be answered later, I guess. Will you let me help you? That wing looks... bad. Really bad. I might be able to help you." It came out as a tumble, and at the end she tried to wrap it up to sound more positive than the start that sounded a little pushy. She hadn't thought much about any questions she had until she'd started talking. Now they all buzzed around, a confusing mess of 'why' and 'how', that she hoped he could answer sometime. But the important thing was to get his wing some medical attention, since he needed it.

He shuffled a bit in place, then a very quiet mumble of "okay" rumbled from him. His voice was deeper than she would have guessed, but that wasn't anything that could hold a candle to the big, notable things such as how he was alive. Every little, insignificant thing about him held a plethora of questions. It was frustrating.

Now that he was cooperating somewhat, and looked less like he was going to flee at any given moment, she had to think about how she would get him to her home. The catch was that he shouldn't be spotted by anyone. If she were him, she wouldn't want to be found - his reaction to her finding him told her that it was her best interest to keep him out of radar of anyone else. She knew other bird watchers in her community that would kill a man to get a glimpse of the skeleton, and many more that would kill their families to inspect him. She would avoid those types of people, too. So keeping him hidden from the populous was notable while forming a plan to transport him.

Later she could decide how to drive him there. The current task was getting him to the vehicle in the first place. "Can you walk?" She queried, a bit nervous. Unlike normal, regular-sized birds, he looked next to impossible to carry if need be. Dragging didn't seem optimal, since his wing could snag on something else and she wouldn't notice until it worsened the injury. His legs seemed fine, but she had no idea how steady he would be on foot.

She assumed he hit the trunk of that spruce rather harshly, and unless he had bones of steel - which she doubted - he might have some other injury than just his wing. A concussion was possible, but for all she knew he could have the skull durability of a woodpecker. Based on everything else, however, she could safely assume he would more likely have the skull strength of either a human or crow. A human would likely have a concussion from a hit like that.

The sight of him getting up was a sad one. His good wing fluttered uselessly to try and keep him balanced, the splayed one sticking out like a rather sore thumb and throwing any balance he had out of a theoretical window. (In many bird's cases, into a theoretical window pane.) In spite of that, thankfully, he could stand well enough to withstand any light gusts of air and not fall over, though not much more than that. With luck he might be able to walk far enough.

She leaned down to pick up his feather, then stashed it into her backpack. "Come on. We'll walk to my car, then from there I'll figure out how to get you home without you getting spotted." She led him back the way she'd come from, to the grove.

A quiet "thank you" came from behind her.

~

The trek to her vehicle had been a very long one, the skeleton's pace dragging them back to take them a few hours. The weather had been rather forgiving, a sluggishly slow and weak cold breeze wafting over them. It caused the sweat in her jacket to feel like she had put on a coat of freezing water, but it was welcomed in the summer's heat. Shadows loomed darker as the sun began to dip below the peak of Mt. Ebott, the mountain that towered over the forest like a giant, the snow capped peak seeming to cut into the blue skies.

Her truck was a 2016 Toyota Tundra, the body a muddied black. It had a few dents and scrapes on the sides, and the tires and bottoms were caked in mud. The back of the truck had a tarp tied over it to keep what was in the trunk secure. She rooted for her truck keys in her backpack, and unlocked the truck. "Would you rather ride in the back or in the front? The front's comfortable, but you won't be spotted in the back."

As he considered his options, she untied a bit of the tarp and put her backpack on top of her folded tent. Everything from her camping site had been packed up earlier in the day. The supplies in there were hot from the sun's heat, and she silently apologized to her things for leaving them out longer than she should have. It wasn't parked in any shadows, so it wasn't hidden from the worst parts of the day's heat. She dreaded when she would have to touch the steering wheel.

"the front," he replied at last. She nodded to let him know she'd heard him, and tied up the tarp before heading back to the front of the Toyota. He seemed at least somewhat familiar with automobiles, since he opened up the passenger side door and clambered inside beside the driver's seat. He sunk onto the floorboards in front of the passenger seat, tucking in his wings as best he could to make them fit. His splayed wing looked painful as it folded, and she had to look away as she put her keys into the ignition and started up the truck.

Since he was in the front, she would have to take the back roads. She knew of a few scenic routes she could enjoy on the way home, ones people rarely used. They were curvy, but none had any sharp turns that might make him slide over, so she supposed he would be fine. She turned on the air conditioning to get the cold air flowing to combat the hot air, and maneuvered the truck so she could drive back down the gravel road to get out of the park.

She glanced over to him every once in awhile to check on him. His arms were on the seat in front of him, and he had curled into a ball for comfort. He seemed a little motion-sick from every small rock of the car as it crunched noisily over the uneven gravel, clutching the seat a little tighter as he was moved left to right a little in place. He closed his eye sockets tightly, making her wonder what was going on through his head.

The amount of trust he was putting into her was staggering. She thought it over as she drove the car under a tree-made cave of branches and leaves, shadows dappled with sun lighting up the windshield and hood. It was a very hard decision for him to make, she supposed; she didn't want him to make him regret trusting her. She was handed a lifetime opportunity that she doubted any other bird enthusiast could even hope for. In her truck was a living skeleton with a pair of unknown crow wings, who was trusting her to help mend his wing that had gotten impaled by a branch that was still lodged in his wing, crushing his ulna. It was if she was on the outside looking into the situation, and only now did it dawn on her quite what she was doing on auto-pilot. The situation was utterly surreal.

Her thoughts earlier about becoming famous from the discovery seemed malicious now that she looked back on it. It wouldn't be fair to the skeleton, to be exploited for her to get some recognition. The way he had first reacted to her presence showed her that he didn't trust humans usually - she had a feeling that this was a rarer occurrence than winning the lottery, or being hit by lightning. Which, of course, it was. Nobody in the bird loving community had ever met a creature like the skeleton. It felt like a lot of weight had been moved in between her shoulders, pressing her into the floorboards of her own truck like a thumb while her consciousness was pulled out of her body by a huge eagle to watch herself react to everything around her.

Drumming her fingers absentmindedly on the steering wheel, she reached the desolate main road. For a 'main road' it was mostly empty, only the occasional car roaring past. She checked the time on the display under the radio stations - _6:33 PM._ The after-work rush on the road was about to start, but she'd be able to make it to the back roads right before the traffic would start. A soreness rose up from her lower back as she leaned backwards in her seat, letting out an infinitesimal sigh as she drove down the road, looking to her right for the street she needed to go down. Forest flanked both sides of the road, though the trees were growing sparse on the sides as they got cut more and more often to make way for roads going every which way.

"how much longer?" The skeleton piped up, his voice coming out as a sick-sounding croak. She looked over to him for a moment, to see how he was doing. He didn't seem to be much better with his motion-sickness, but he would be okay. She did a few calculations in her head, wincing at the answer.

"Around three hours. Can you hold on that long?"

"... aah. okay."

She sighed, keeping her gaze ahead. The sun was starting to sink lower and lower, making the shadows seem to grow darker and longer across the road. This would be a long drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I had expected, sorry 'bout that. I had things to do while writing, since I have multiple other projects and life sometimes gets in the way. The paragraphs here are a lot longer than I had meant to make them, and I didn't realize that until I was almost halfway done. It's hard to break them in half at that point. I think this turned out okay nonetheless, so I hope it was worth the wait!
> 
> I used to know jack-shit about birds going into this, but I came out of this chapter knowing too much about carrion crows, and birds in general. Don't get me started on goddamn trees. Anything but those fucking trees.


	3. Chapter Two

Light shone off of the sleek white tiles of the bathroom, making him squint his eye sockets from the brightness they weren't accustomed to after hours of sitting in a dark truck. He was sitting on the bathroom floor, with two counters flanking him on either side against the wall. A medicine cabinet was above the counter to his left; the sink and a mirror to his right. The counter below the medicine cabinet had his goggles placed on them, since they were in need of repair before he could properly wear them again.

A soreness had made itself known at the base of his tail, from sitting on his tail feathers for so long. His injury ached with pain he had grown accustomed to. He had a headache from when his head hit the trunk of that spruce. The injured wing was spread out behind him, while his uninjured wing was folded tightly against his back. The woman was sitting behind him and inspecting the wound, out of his peripheral sight. He heard her shifting around in place to get comfortable, and felt her hands carefully parting the feathers of his alula to get a closer look at what she was working with. Her hand brushed against the branch lodged in his wing; he flinched as it moved a bit in place, rubbing into the wound.

"Tonight I'll just take the branch out, make sure everything's as clean as I can make it, then bandage it up. After that we'll find a place for you to sleep. Sound good?" It did not, in fact, sound good, but he nodded anyway. If he had any choice in the matter, he would choose to keep the branch in and just sleep until morning, leaving it to the future him to deal with it. That's what he usually ended up doing. Getting it over with in the moment seemed like torture.

Carefully, she grabbed the thick end of the branch. The slight movement from the grasp caused it to rub into the wound, and he flinched as pain started to spike up, the numbness retreating back into the harsh reality he'd tried to forget. He understood what she was aiming to accomplish; if she pulled from the other side, the thickest part of it would have to pass through, and would tear the flesh. The skinnier part was at least two times as long, but it wouldn't hurt him further being pulled out.

With a sudden jerking motion, she'd roughly pulled it out, having to tug whenever it caught on the flesh of his wing. He let out a loud squawk, pain ripping through the flesh of his wing, setting his nerves ablaze. A hot liquid that held a strong metallic scent started to drip down from the wound and into his feathers, ruining the perfect sheen his feathers had. A few smaller feathers had been ripped out during the process, and they had fluttered to the ground in a crimson mess just behind him. She dropped the branch, and it clattered on the ground for a moment as she quickly got something and started to clean the wound. It felt like a damp dishtowel; it stung, and worsened the pain already existing on the injury.

Then she pulled the towel away, and began to bandage up the wing. It was a little awkward going because of the sheer size; the feather's size was a whole other issue. She had to part certain feathers so she wouldn't bend any of them during the bandaging, and had to be careful not to wrap it too tight to injure the hollow bones in the wing. His good wing unfolded from his back and nearly smacked her, but it missed her and quivered in the air a moment before folding back once more.

Although the pain wasn't dulling as quickly as he preferred, numbness would probably be absolute when it did come, which was  _something_  to look forward to. His toes twitched as he folded his bad wing, finding the cramping sensation of the bandages odd. He could hear her putting away what she had gotten out, and washing the dish towel in the sink. He managed to get to his feet, a little shaky, but he kept his balance well enough as he turned to look at her placing the drenched towel on the counter.

She looked over to him, giving him a quick scan with those observant (e/c) eyes. Finding that all was in enough order for the moment, she looked up to meet his gaze. "What's your name? I uh... don't think we ever properly introduced ourselves. I got a little distracted." She laughed a little nervously, a sudden awkward air between the two of them becoming very apparent. "I'm (Y/n)."

That got a snicker out of him, and she shuffled her feet a little in what he guessed was embarrassment. "nice ta meet you. 'm sans, sans the skeleton." He would make a pun in a situation like that one, a joke of any sort, really, but it was hard to concentrate when he was so tired and overall not in the best of moods, not even mentioning the intense pain he was in.

Besides physical and mental conditions, even letting a human know he existed seemed wrong on some level. It went against everything he had been taught, and he was reminded of all the reasons they had been given to avoid humans. Under no condition were the two species supposed to interact with one another, but there he was. He never was any good at following the rules. But this time he had a good excuse for it. Somewhat good excuse. Okay, no excuse at all, but he had been in a lot of pain, and was extremely tired, and wasn't thinking right.

Everyone would be disappointed, as he'd come to expect of them.

At least he had gotten lucky, and the human who'd found him took into account what he might of wanted, and he didn't even have to utter a single word. The image of humans that he had been taught didn't apply to her at all. They were shown to be violent, and would kill them without any real reason. Clever, too, though they were somewhat outsmartable. Without any rational thought whenever it came to the whole monster race, and side species beside them. Would maim them in a second and keep them captured, then show the whole world about them - then, suddenly, a monster hunt would begin.

She wasn't anywhere near that. She took precautions to keep him hidden and he didn't need to say a thing. Right then she had patched up his wing when she had no real reason to. They hadn't even introduced themselves to each other, and she had no idea if he was dangerous, yet she had taken the chance to help him. Maybe she was a rare kind to come across, and the rest were as they had described, he had no idea. But he might as well make the most out of the situation before he headed back to face the consequences to something he had next to no way to prevent without hurting himself in the process.

"Wait a second." She broke his train of thought abruptly. "Is... is that a font? Sans?"

They always catch on. Damn it.

He only offered a painful shrug, not really wanting to give her a voice answer. When every single new person you meet almost instantly catches on to your name being a font, you learn that you best avoid the topic when possible. Try and make them see it as just a unique name. Definitely not a weirdo who's name is a font. Not named after anything. Just a random string of letters. Or it becomes a joke, and he cringes inside each time it's mentioned. Sure, he liked comedy, but having his name after a font named 'comic sans' is far-fetched, and honestly pretty embarrassing.

As always, she seemed to catch on to what signals he was sending. "I'll just... not mention it. Is there any way you would prefer to sleep? The couch is always open, and I've got a few unused blankets." The topic change was very appreciated, and her willingness to not say anything about his name. It was stunning how well she picked up what he wanted so well, and he couldn't decide if he should be creeped out or impressed. At least he wouldn't have to deal with her pressing on things he didn't want her to press on. He was sucker for having privacy, and he knew plenty of people that had next to no boundaries when it came to other people.

"i could make a nest on the couch out of the blankets," he answered. A soft nest sounded amazing to him, but making it out of blankets sounded like a nightmare. He'd slept in nests padded with blankets before, sure, but one made completely of them? That would be incredibly hard to create. They didn't have enough structure, for one thing. It might fall apart as soon as he could set it up. He'd figure something out when it came to it, and if need be he could sleep in a collapsed nest. He had done it before, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch. A collapsed nest made out of blankets would be a lot more comfortable than a collapsed one made out of twigs, branches, and barely any padding.

"You go ahead and head downstairs, and choose which couch you want to make it on." She opened the door for him, and he exited before her. He heard her turn off the bathroom light before exiting as well, heading past him and out of sight behind a wall.

The hallway wasn't the kind of hallway one would expect. Two vestibules led to the front and back decks, branching off from the actual part of the hallway. The bathroom door was connected to the vestibule connected to the front deck; another door was across from it, going into a room he hadn't seen yet. He couldn't see well into the other vestibule from his angle, but he could see a sliver of the glass door leading to the back deck. The walls were a light green color with a white trim along the bottom, with fake light brown hardwood flooring. His talons rapped against the plastic as he went into the hallway, and to the left. At the quick dead end it turned left again, leading to a set of stairs leading down.

Downstairs, the lights weren't on. She had turned them off as soon as he had started to go upstairs to the bathroom. There were three total lights in the room. One was in the center, a dome chandelier. There was a lamp beside the staircase, with red cardinals flying across the lampshade. In the right corner was another lamp, this one having a plain gray lampshade. If he had regular eyes he wouldn't have seen anything; but he did not have regular eyes. His white pupils started to glow and allowed him to see in the darkness, a handy trick from generations of darkness and night fliers in his family. The center light might as well had been on.

The living room's shape was somewhat like an L. The largest portion was rectangular, going left to right if you had walked in from the front door. A much smaller rectangular portion was in the back right corner. The smaller portion was separated from the kitchen to the right by a half wall. The floor was plush, black, white, and gray camouflage-pattern carpeting. The walls were wallpaper, depicting a surrounding forest.

He had two choices of couch to choose from.

One was to the left of the staircase. It was settled against the wall, seeming to cut the main rectangle in half. If put just a few inches farther back, it would be in open space because of the back right corner part of the living room. In front of it was a low coffee table, neatly organized. That couch had view of a flatscreen TV set on a stand; it wasn't too big of a TV, more modest-sized. It had cable TV. The remote control was set on the coffee table, set so it directly pointed at the TV  in a perfectly straight line. The only thing separating the table and the TV stand was a large, gray oval carpet.

Another was against the kitchen half-wall. It was an L-section couch, with a round table set in a way that you could prop your feet on it or grab anything off it - within reasonable distance - from anywhere on the couch. The only thing to look at from there was the two book cases against the walls opposite, the kitchen, or the front door. He noticed a window right above it, but the curtains were drawn.

He chose the one closest to the staircase. If he ever woke up and couldn't fall back asleep, the TV remote would be within reach, and he would barely have to move to get entertainment. Or he could have something playing in the background to soothe him to sleep, if needed. It was always good to have options like that available. He noticed that the L-section had bolster and mitered throw pillows. They could make for decent structure, so his nest wouldn't fall apart so quickly. He went to go fetch them and start making the structure.

Two mitered pillows were placed on the arms of the couch, then the bolsters were set on their sides in the front. (Y/n) came downstairs, burdened by two blankets gathered in her arms. She couldn't see in the dark so he walked over, and took them from her. He thanked her, and she replied with a simple "You're welcome" before heading back upstairs to probably go to bed herself. He started to set up the blankets in the nest.

One of them was placed first, bunched around the support and the back of the couch. The other was placed on top, bunched further to make it look more like an actual nest. He crawled into the nest, having to sit on his poor sore tail feathers again, making sure that his bad wing was tucked. His good wing covered himself, and he curled into a comfortable ball, nestled into the nest.

Almost like he was home.

Almost.

~

A shaft of sunlight spilled out of the picture window to the right of the TV, making the turned-off black screen seem to glow and reflect like a mirror. It made everything look and seem warmer; the dark brown drapes were drawn to let it in the first place. The nest had held, which he was delighted for. His good wing folded against his back again as he shook his head as if able to shake the grogginess away. What had woken him up was likely the smell and sizzle of scrambled eggs being made from the kitchen.

His headache had faded to a dull aching, matching evenly with the soreness of his tail feathers and ache in his injury. Not preferable, sure, but not as much as nuisance as previously. It was livable.

He hopped out of his nest and onto the ground, stretching for a moment before going to investigate the scent he could detect from the kitchen. None of the lights were on, surprisingly; all of the curtains were drawn, letting in the dawn's light. One beside the TV, two flanking the front door, one behind the L-section, and one on the far side of the kitchen, across from the open entryway. All of them except for the picture window near the TV were single-hanged windows, with all of the curtains drawn back and opened on both the top and bottom to let in the fresh air. A breeze drifted in from the window, carrying the scent easier.

Standing at the stove was (Y/n), making the scrambled eggs he had smelled. Two white plates were set on the counter beside her in front of the microwave, with open breakfast burritos setting on them, ready to be made. The scrambled eggs were being made with cheese, and it strung together as she cut up the eggs in order to make sure all of them were cooked, everything a yellow fluffy mess in the pan. She glanced up at him, then looked back down to what she was cooking. She was wearing a plain blue t-shirt and gray sweatpants - a hastily thrown-on outfit if he'd ever seen one, for either a lazy day or temporarily for the morning.

Like the bathroom, everything in the kitchen was either white, or silver. Against the otherwise empty right wall from the entrance were multiple beautiful pictures taken of waterfowl riverside, giving the area a calm air. There was an island in the middle of the kitchen, with a dome light overhead, though it wasn't on. All light came from a wide window in the back, over the marble counter but under the overhead cabinet.

"I didn't know if you wanted one or not, but I made enough for two. If you don't want it I could make you something else, and I'll just have yours." She didn't even look at him again, turning off the stove and making sure the eggs were fluffy and not sticking to the bottom of the pan. She started to split it in two halves and put them into the burrito, then placed the pan back onto the stove to cool off as she closed them. They smelled heavenly, and his mouth watered with magic.

"i'd like one, it smells really good," he complimented.

She chuckled. "Thanks, I suppose. Want anything to drink with it? I pretty much only have water."

"yeah."

She opened a cabinet over the window, and pulled out two glasses. "Take your plate into the entryway beside the kitchen, and choose a seat. I'll bring in your glass for you." He nodded and took the plate offered to him, and left the kitchen. He entered the open entryway mentioned that was just a foot away.

The dining room was decorated very well. Two single-hung windows were in the same state as the one in the kitchen; a bay window was settled to the right wall, allowing a view of the front yard of the home. The wall actually had a whole alcove filled with plush seating. Two robin bird plushies were settled in the farest corner in the alcove, and the closest corner had a woodpecker plush. Two more single-hung windows flanked the bay window, and one had a view onto the front porch, in the front right corner.

A smaller L-sectional was set in the back right corner, with no table to call its own. A large, round table was set in the front left corner. On its center was an indoor rock waterfall with a cactus settled near the top, and a small plastic crane standing in the bottom pool. In the back left corner was a potted, very tall cactus.

The entire room had a large, woven brown rug, with golden tassel corners. It contrasted the white, plastic bird-wood flooring. The walls were a jungle wallpaper, much like the forest wallpaper of the living room. The center of the room was home to a long table, with a seat at the end closest to the door, and two chairs on either side. A long chandelier hung above the table, though it wasn't on.

His seating choice was the alcove. It had a beautiful view of forest that surrounded the home, and the long gravel trail leading out of sight. Birdsong drifted in through the two open windows to the side, which he enjoyed. He sat down on one of the pillows, picking up the burrito and taking a bite. The scent was definitely worthy of the taste; this outdid a lot of people's cooking he knew of. She was getting suspiciously perfect.

Now he was wondering what her faults were.

Being a slob wasn't one of them; her house was definitely a neat-freak's. Everything was in perfect order, placed so that it looked like the house was barely lived in. He didn't think she was mean or anything like he was told they were supposed to be, so that was off of the possibilities list. Good cook? Fucking hell yeah. She was also suspiciously good at sensing what he wanted avoided, and what he wanted. The only fault he could really think of was how awkward she could be, with the introductions thing from the night before.

Oh, boy. Now he's gonna be analyzing her for every fault he can find. You fucked up, Sans. Goddamn it.

She entered the dining room as he was halfway done devouring his breakfast burrito. With her she brought her own plate, with one water glass stacked on it; her other hand was holding the second glass, and two coasters. She placed the coaster on the circular table to his left, and put his glass on it, then placed her plate and her glass on a coaster at the table. Just as she glanced back at him, a glob of cheesy eggs dropped from his burrito and landed softly on the pillow he was sitting on.

Her face scrunched up to the side as she practically glared at the offending food piece, to the point where it didn't seem like human facial muscles should be comfortable so out of place.

Aha, there it was. What a quirk. Not to mention that it leaned towards her having some sort of OCD. That could become problematic with him being lazy.

What would she think of him displacing her throw pillows?

He plucked the egg piece off of the pillow and put it on his plate, then continued to eat, a little more careful of the spilling contents of the burrito. He could see her shoulder muscles relax from the tenseness they had taken on, and she took a seat at the table and ate her own breakfast. Her face slackened as well, though her foot tapped the ground at a rapid pace, probably subconsciously.

Note taken - don't be such a slob when she's around.

Pun. A pun would be nice right then. Egg pun? OCD pun? Breakfast pun? Skeleton pun? It'd never been that hard to choose. The thought of a cheese pun option flowed into his train of thought, so he slammed his mind into thinking of a good egg pun, since all cheese puns might remind her that cheese might've gotten on the pillow.

" _egg-_ cuse me for bein' a lil' messy."

That was horrible. It might work.

She snorted in surprise, covering her mouth with a hand as she had to put down her burrito. She removed her hand from her mouth and looked over to him. "A pun? Really? I nearly choked," she complained, albeit not too seriously. His smile widened a bit as his mouth opened for the last bite of the burrito. Another thing to add to the faults list - a snort. The best kind of start to a laugh - and she liked the pun, too! Made him glad that she wasn't totally like a certain someone he knew.

" _egg-_ cellent, right?  _cracks_ me up every time."

"Isn't it weird for a bird to be eating eggs? Or... half-bird whatever? I get that some birds eat eggs, but I didn't really expect that you'd want any. What kind of crow are you anyway?" That was a lot of questions. They didn't seem too bad, so he decided he could answer truthfully. She kind of deserved a real answer, seeing as she'd been nice to him and he couldn't repay that back with being rude.

" 'm a carrion crow. we eat eggs. how'd you know i was a crow, and not a raven or somethin'?" That had been bugging him for awhile. A lot of the house seemed nature-centered - and more specifically, bird-centered. There was a lot that unnerved him about that, since humans are told to be so horrible, and one liking birds didn't look too good to his species. He knew first-hand that many monsters he knew couldn't quite tell if he was a raven or crow. The human knowing it off the bat was a little odd.

She shrugged. "Crows have more spread tail feathers, that was a huge clue." She paused, as if considering what she should say next. Then everything came spilling out of her mouth like a fountain. "I guess it would be better if you knew, I suppose, that I really, r _eally_  like birds. I hope that's not weird to you or anything; I don't keep any as a pet because I would prefer they be out in the wild, and I guess from your perspective it might be really weird that I take their pictures and sell them. I honestly have no idea what you'll think of me collecting their feathers - your feathers are amazing, by the way. I found you because I found one of your feathers at the root of that spruce. Also, aren't carrion crows a mainly European species? This is pretty far west North America for a carrion crow."

He blinked. Another flaw - she seemed to have a habit of going on small rants sometimes. Wasn't anything too major. Finding a human that was fascinated with birds was teetering on the edge between weird and cool, and again he couldn't decide which. At least she was pretty honest about the whole thing. It wasn't nearly as bad as she seemed to think it was to him - he decided it was a cool thing. She could understand him better, than some random human who hated birds or something. They could find some common ground with both having an interest in birds. He decided he better clear that up, otherwise she might worry herself to death.

"we migrated, i guess. and don't worry 'bout the bird thing - it's not as  _hawk_ ward as you take it." Slipping in the extra pun to make a point, he successfully got another snort.

She went back to eating her breakfast; he placed his plate down on the table and reached for his glass. He chugged pretty much the whole thing in one go, and put it back on the coaster after remembering she might appreciate it. This would be an interesting stay, he figured. All he had to do was make sure he didn't be  _too_ much of a mess and then he could go. She piped up after a minute or so.

"I have to unpack supplies from my truck and get on to selling some pictures, maybe a bundle of feathers. You can explore the house if you want."

"sure," he replied, and turned around so he could peer out of the bay window. It was sunny, heat practically radiated through the glass, and he wasn't with a human who would doom his species. A great-ish start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12.7 pages. A little shorter than the last chapter, but that one was longer than usual. This is about an average length. Again, I apologize for the wait - it took me a couple tries to get the start I wanted for this one. I'm not 100% satisfied with this, but you know what? It's good enough. Someone had wanted a Sans POV - so here, take it. I added more thoughts than I would of usually for this one, so you get plenty of Sans. It also gave you somewhat of an insight into the world he'd come from. Though obviously only enough for you to wonder. I never got into specifics. He didn't end up having a concussion - his skull is pretty thick. Not as good as a woodpecker's, but it's good enough to withstand a solid thwacking.
> 
> Oh, and I had planned to write him exploring the house, but I decided this was wrapped up good enough as it was. This chapter would be a lot longer than it is now if I added that section, and it would be quite the pain. The ideas for what would happen changed a lot during the process - first the nest was gonna be in a closet, but somehow he ended up making one on the couch! This breakfast wasn't supposed to happen, either. I hope you enjoyed Sans' thoughts of it all.


	4. Chapter Three

_A warm wind had picked up, and he straightened his wings to let the wind carry him. Farther ahead, the flock he was travelling with collectively did the same, all of them thankfully taking the break for their fatigued flying muscles. The skies that day had been unforgiving, giving them only trace gusts that didn't even blow in the direction they were headed, with the only strong burst being in the opposite direction. His primary feather's tips were damp from flying directly over the rapids of a river, where they had slightly dipped into the current for a moment. Their destination - Mt. Ebott - loomed just above the tree tops, the peak outlining the blue skies._

_The second break of the day would be eventually, when their luck ran out and the wind's course changed from theirs. He could already feel the wind start to weaken, turning to the side, and he had to flap once to keep from falling into the rapids churning right below as he broke through the lifting force of the air. The head of the flock was already wheeling to the side, towards the forest. All of the others followed suit, disappearing between the trunks of the trees and being swallowed by the shadows of the woods, leaving him the last one out in the open. His wings practically snapped to the side as he plunged after them, trying to keep up._

_Unlike the others, he wasn't hatched with a sense of how to murmurate with the rest of them, like starlings. The ability to move in such harmony that it seemed as though they congealed into one huge bird - the slightest flick of a wing or a tail feather, small changes in direction and speed - all copied so flawlessly by all of them, within seconds. It came so naturally to others, while during his youth he had to work hard to make it look like he could flow with the flock. As he got older he started to care less about murmurating like the rest of them, and he gave up on keeping up with them. Instead, he stuck to the edges of the outskirts, technically with the flock while not joining them. A 'solitary flocker', as they referred to him._

_His wings sharply turned and spread wider as he slowed down dramatically, doing a quick smaller wheel as he landed lightly on his feet. He looked around at the rest of them who were settling for quick power naps or finding comfortable places to sit. They divided into smaller groups of close friends and family, altogether making four smaller groups than the flock made as a whole. The group he belonged to was one of the smallest, just two other monsters than himself; a family member, and a close family friend._

_One of the others from his group was his brother, Papyrus. Even though he hatched from an entirely different clutch, they had the same mother and father. The both of them had been the only surviving eggs of their clutches, since their subspecies laid barely any eggs per clutch, and the survival rate of the eggs that were laid was extremely low. Papyrus' clutch was laid a year after his, making him the younger of the two brothers. Even though he was younger, he had grown to be much larger, around the usual size for their subspecies. Sans' egg had hatched a little too early, and his growth had stunted quite a bit because of it. His early hatching had been given the blame for his odd behaviors and instincts._

_Papyrus was an albino, a rare occurrence that hadn't been seen in his family very often. Albinos were often treated a little harsher than the others, thanks to a superstition that had run through the monster families for as long as anybody could remember. Any albinos that survived into adulthood became greatly respected, and Papyrus wasn't an exception. Either way he would have gotten great respect, since their subspecies was known to be somewhat royal, and the only of its kind. The only skeletons, the only carrion crows. They both shared magnificent wings - Papyrus' were a bit longer thanks to his bigger size, and instead of black with a sheen of green or purple, they were a pure snow-white, even more so than his bones. His brother's tail feathers were somewhat thinner, but much longer, again thanks to his size._

_His skull was much narrower and tall, and no pupils glowed in his sockets. The night vision family gene had not been passed down his unfortunate brother, though his own orange-tinted aviator goggles did help to imitate night vision when it got dark, thanks to a hint of magic. He wore a broad white piece of armor on his chest, that had rather bulky shoulder blades on it. His spine and the tallest curves of his pelvis were open to the air, though much of his pelvis was hidden by another piece of similar white armor. His forearms were covered by a pair of white gloves, and he wore slim white boots that cut away at the toes to allow his talons to stick out like those of his species should. His stubby talons were nothing to compare to his slim ones. Papyrus adorned a red cape with a hood that had been pulled up. The cape had been specially adjusted for his wings, so it wouldn't have to be lain over them and make folding them odd for him. Its color was stark against the rest of his white coloration, but the rugged cape had been passed down in the family to the biggest of the current siblings, so he supposed it still looked well on his brother._

_The other monster in his group was a close family friend, who was a little younger than they were. He was a foko, a subspecies of dragon that was far from what one might imagine when they think of a dragon. They usually didn't grow much larger than three feet, and didn't have a single scale on them. Instead, they had two pelts of fur - one for warmer weather, and one for hotter weather. The two pelts sometimes had different colors and patterns on them, though some keep the same color and pattern for both of their pelts. They had rather large ears that looked like a deer's, and no horns. They had rounded heads, with only mildly sharper muzzles. Their necks were a big long, though not too long, and their legs were insanely short and stubby. Their toes were blunt claws, with four main ones and a smaller fifth one that was slimmer and acted like a thumb. Their wings depended on the family, sometimes being a mix of species._

_Par was one of the shorter of the species, barley reaching two and a half feet tall. His summer pelt was extremely thin, and a rock-gray color. Lighter and darker gray splotches and dots adorned his face, flanks, shoulders, and belly. His small eyes were light blue. His muzzle and legs had two broad, dark gray bands on them. His wings was those of a band-tailed pigeon, so they were smaller and dark gray colored. He had a sash around himself, with different pockets for various things he snatched from humans. Fokos often tried to mimic being humans, for some reason only known to them._

_He sat on Papyrus' shoulders, his long, furry tail smacking the trunk of a black cottonwood that his brother sat against. Papyrus beckoned him, so he walked over and took a seat nearby. He ducked most of his body under his elegant black wings, shielding himself from the world momentarily as he got comfortable. His small talons clutched uselessly at the dirt below him. He peeked around his wings to see Papyrus looking a little worried. As usual._

_"YOU COULD ALWAYS FLY A LITTLE CLOSER TO THE REST OF US," he offered, his booming voice reaching the rest of the flock easily. He flinched so hard that his wings covered his face again for a good few soul-beats before he slowly peeked around his wings again, to look at his brother that awaited his response to the offer. He knew Papyrus already knew his answer; he didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, but he wouldn't fly with the rest of them. Last time he tried, he misread a signal and crashed into another monster. He wasn't going to do that again._

_He didn't understand him sometimes._

_Awkwardly, he shuffled a little bit, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't get him a session of nagging. The breaks were brief, and he didn't want to spend it getting a whole lecture from his brother about the social needs of monsters. "nah, bro, 'm fine. 's a nice day for flyin' solo." It wasn't a lie, which was the closest he could get to telling the truth. Flying in flocks when every monster was exhausted was a pain, since occasionally someone could smack you with a wing by accident, or you might miss a cue and smack into somebody else. The suppressing flaps of other bird's wings didn't make anything easier for flying._

_Papyrus gave in surprisingly quickly. Par shifted on his shoulders, pulling a watch out of his sash and checking the time, before putting it back in and scampering up onto Papyrus' head. The poor monster looked even more tired than he felt, with those little wings that he had to flap a lot more to keep aloft. He sunk onto Papyrus' skull and stayed still for a few long moments. Sans looked around at the others to see them quickly look away, back to their own groups. His tail feathers twitched in annoyance at their nosiness, but he couldn't really blame them for staring._

_After what seemed like only five minutes, they started to get up and stretch their muscles for another few hours of flight. It took him a moment longer to finally get to his own feet. Papyrus was one of the first to take off, with Par right behind him. Within a few seconds all of them were quickly rising above the tree's tops, and heading towards Mt. Ebott. He strayed in the clearing for half a minute longer before taking off as well, though slower than the rest of them had._

_Even though he had rested, it still felt like he was being weighed down by bones that were now full of lead. One of his wings nicked a branch that he quickly maneuvered around, and he broke through the canopy. He spread his wings and dove for a glide, lifted by a weak breeze that managed to keep him just above the trees's tops. One of the tops stuck out from the rest, and he easily swerved to the side to avoid hitting it. He had to flap a few times to gain some height as his glide nearly took him into the trees._

_The wind suddenly shifted._

_He was sent flying backwards, slamming into the tree top he had just narrowly avoided. All of his flying experience failed him as he started to plummet down towards the earth. His mind completely blanked as one of his wings snagged on a branch; it stabbed through, and with a sickening_ snap _the entire branch gave in, and he continued to fall. He snapped back into reality, and flailed, flapping his good wing fiercely while his wounded wing flapped weakly. All it did was cause him to slam into the trunk of a tree, and he flailed all the way to the forest floor._

_Hitting the ground knocked the breath out of him, and he let out a strangled yelp as his back slammed into the forest floor. Every part of his body practically screamed in pain, but the only thing he could think about was the fact that he wouldn't be able to catch up. The flock wouldn't even notice until they arrived back, and how would they find him? With a wing as damaged as his, no way would be lift himself even a foot off of the ground. Walking all the way there would take ages, and he could die by then._

_Sans wasn't exactly the most social monster. All other monsters he met loved being in groups of people, and if they weren't surrounded by others they typically became sad. The only social need he had was knowing that a monster was nearby, just someone he could talk to at any given time, though he never actually talked to them unless they approached him first. Even when they approached him, he still would rather not speak or be near them._

_But he never wanted to be totally, completely alone._

_Nobody was nearby. He couldn't count on the possibility that he could call out and talk to someone._

_He was alone._

~

"hhhmp."

His wing twitched uncomfortably from where it was folded on his back, pressed against the back of the couch. The unpleasant dream he had experienced was being dragged into his subconscious, forgotten in his groggy morning mind. It left him wondering why he was kind of upset, though he shrugged it off as he always did. He could worry about being worried later; now, he would focus on the moment in time he was in, and not about past hims or future hims. That was their business. 

Technically, they were a whole other guy.

The second thing he found wrong with his morning was that the smell of cooked breakfast smelled stale; it had probably been made at least an hour ago. Usually when she was making breakfast it woke him up right away, but sleeping in wasn't something he was a stranger to. The sunlight peeking through the window looked about the same intenseness as it always had that time in the morning, so he guessed maybe he hadn't woken up late. He supposed she could be an even earlier riser.

Then, his eye caught the bright yellow post-it note on the flatscreen TV's frame. The sunlight hit it so that it stuck out like an injured wing right after injury. The intense yellow color was unappealing to his half-asleep self, but nonetheless he managed to clamber out of his nest so he could go retrieve it. The handwriting was too small to read it from the couch.

Her handwriting was small, and a mix between print and cursive. Her 't's looked like uppercase L's. Her 'c' and 'e' looked almost identical. Where lines were supposed to meet on letters such as 'd' or 'a' there was some empty space. The 'p' had a loop where the bottom line was. Spaces that were supposed to be empty had unnecessary lines. It reminded him of someone else's handwriting he couldn't recall; definitely wasn't his, however. His handwriting was horrible, and sometimes even he couldn't read it.

_'I hope I didn't disturb you on my way out, so, if I did, I apologize. I'm headed out for the day and probably well into the night. I went ahead and cooked you all three meals, they're in the fridge. See you tomorrow.'_

Oh.

... Oh.

He remembered his dream, his mind snatching it back from the verge of his memory.

This was a somewhat similar situation, though the factors were different. He knew she would be coming back eventually, if she wasn't stopped by anything, but there was always that chance she wouldn't come back. He wasn't lost by accident, but instead on purpose. Not that she had bad intentions, as far as he knew. Everything he needed to survive was supplied, unlike in the forest, so he knew he'd live. For a certain amount of time, anyway, if that off chance that she never came back arose. Oh, and his mind was going haywire with thoughts of abandonment, quickly dashing away any logical thought process he'd been going through.

Taking a deep breath, he completely emptied his mind of all thought for a moment. He exhaled, and he turned away from the TV to face the rest of the house, and, unfortunately, the day. The constant company he was getting used to was whisked out of his environment to do something unspecified, and he had an entire day to himself. On any other day he would have rejoiced to have a day alone, but with his current circumstances he wasn't celebrating much. He would have to keep himself occupied for a  _whole day._

Otherwise he might drive himself crazy with thoughts.

If he were, hypothetically, a human with a day off from work in their house, what would he do?

Well, probably watch TV. Read a book. Go on the Internet and do whatever they did on there. A walk, if he felt like it. Eat something, maybe. Talk with his other human friends who were easily contactable, and definitely not worrying about him while sitting in a mountain. Anything to keep himself from going insane with boredom. It was like the house was a solitary confinement cell, but he could 1. Leave, and 2. Check out some cool stuff, some of which he hadn't seen before.

Not very much like a solitary confinement cell, then, but the idea of being completely alone was essentially the same.

With definitely very happy thoughts going through his head, he set off to go eat some breakfast and figure out what he was going to do for the entire day.

~

Everything after breakfast was a mess of different activities. He had watched TV for around an hour or so, switching between channels and making notes of new ones he was interesting in - most of them were new, and a lot were interesting. He recognized only two shows - then had gotten pretty bored with it and switched it off.

Next, he had explored the outside of her house. It was really beautiful, especially when it wasn't pitch black outside, like it was when he'd first arrived and stumbled out of her truck. Forest completely surrounded her home, blocking the view of the rest of civilization. Her driveway was a mess of gravel, leading out of sight and past a bend of trees, into the unknown. The spot around her house was a popular area for birds, since he could hear them all around; he spotted quite a few nests. He had considered stealing some eggs as a snack, but decided against it, since he didn't want to strain his wing in case he fell and tried to fly his way out of falling. He took a walk around the treeline, then headed inside.

Midday, he had sat on the back deck, on the second floor. He had done quite a few calls, trying to get a message across to any other carrion crows that could hear it, but he knew that Papyrus wouldn't hear. No other carrion crows lived there, either, so no bird could pass the message along. When his chest had hurt he'd gone inside and retired to looking at some of the books on her shelves, then choose one called 'Scythe' by Neal Shusterman, and read for the remaining time of the day.

With all the time he had, he'd finished the whole book. All four hundred and forty three grueling pages of it. He'd gotten so distracted by reading that he had forgotten about lunch and dinner, so he grouped them into a huge meal as the moon began to rise. Darkness had approached quickly, and he knew the skies would be perfectly clear. If he had a telescope with him, he would set it up on the deck and stargaze.

Instead, he found himself stacking furniture on the back deck, and climbing onto the roof.

That was how he got to laying down, sprawled along the tiles. He had found a spot he could relax in without fear of falling off, if he didn't move much. His gaze was set upwards, towards the many constellations and stars. An open night's sky.

A warm breeze had taken up, ruffling his feathers and rustling the fabric of his clothes. Not a single cloud blotted his vision of the stars, and mentally he traced patterns of the monster constellations he knew. His memory and knowledge of human constellations was nonexistent, but he knew how to find ones made by monsters. They were often used in night navigation, which was taught generation to generation of night fliers. When he snuck out at night to fly under the stars instead of under a rock ceiling, he always navigated with the star system just above their heads. He absolutely adored all of the constellations, and knew every single one of them by name.

His favorite was Larvam, the skeleton constellation. It vaguely resembled a femur, though very crudely, like all constellations resembled what they were meant to be. Nearby was Lamia, the vampire constellation. All it resembled was a gigantic pair of teeth, which he supposed could belong to a vampire. Across the sky was Lepus, the rabbit constellation. It showed a rabbit's behind, with a tail to match. Ears seemed to sprout from a mount on its back. The fox constellation, Vulpes, was stalking Lepus, farther to the north. The last memorable constellation was Draco, the dragon. His head was turned to the side, making his right eye the North Star. His wings spread out, nearly brushing a few other constellations. His tail nearly touched Vulpes' head.

Humans had their own constellations. Monsters had theirs. Together they made a masterpiece of the skies, connecting stars that normally they wouldn't usually see connected to draw a picture. Humans' constellations telling tales of myths and legend; monster's constellations celebrating species and the web of life. It was nice to know that both of their species enjoyed making pictures out of the stars. Something they had in common.

Something humans weren't demonized for. At least they were given some kind of credit other than 'they will tear off your wings and torture your family'.

He still couldn't believe the luck he had, with (Y/n) being the one to stumble across him. She was kinder than they had ever made humans out to be, although she had her fair share of habits and odd behaviors. Most of them he had seen in many other monsters, though out of all of them, he hadn't met one that would scrunch their face to her degree. Her fascination with birds was interesting in itself - he had taken a peek into her room, and the only thing he really remembered about it was a huge mountain of bird plushies set on a rug in the center - but that was the only thing that had ever set off anything even akin to a red flag for him, though he didn't really care much at all.

Already he had gotten used to being nearby to her, and talking with her pretty much all day. Other monsters would probably give him weird looks or even run away if they found out he talked with a human, even if he only did it once, never mind a few days. Most of them would rather die than have a human even look at them. He realized that she had taken Papyrus' place of his social anchor in his absence. Someone he could just be nearby and have his social needs filled. Someone he didn't feel exhausted talking to all the time, just sometimes. Without one, he was a mess.

He'd missed her all day, and he'd nearly caught himself waiting by the door like a dog at least twice. Sans really didn't want to seem desperate, it would make him look weird. If she didn't find him weird already, that is. If he was in her place, he would definitely be freaked out by his existence. Maybe she was. He knew for a fact that she was good at keeping her composure most of the time. (Occasionally, she would burst into a random bout of questions, or a small rant. He didn't mind them, though any personal questions he easily avoided. He found that she was good at dodging questions as well, when the day before they had a whole conversation of trying to shove a personal question onto the other person. He kept in mind that he shouldn't pry, and he had a feeling she made a similar mental note.)

Being under the stars was extremely relaxing, and he got so comfortable that he nearly fell asleep. Falling asleep on the steep tiles of her roof was a horrible idea, so he kept himself active enough to stay awake, but not fall off. He flexed his talons, twitched his tail feathers, wiggled his fingers. Whatever minor activity he could do that would keep him awake. Falling onto a pile of furniture in the middle of the night didn't sound very fun, and he didn't exactly plan on it. It might even worsen his injury, and he knew that he would have to go as soon as possible.

Or, alternatively, he could stay there. Forever, maybe.

... His life was a lot of 'maybe's, recently.

Maybe she would come back from her trip momentarily. Maybe Papyrus wasn't worrying about him to near death back at Mt. Ebott. Maybe he would heal enough to head home. Maybe, when he did head home - if ever -, he wouldn't have a major punishment for allowing a human to interact with him. Maybe he wouldn't reveal his whole species to the human race, and doom them, if she wasn't what she seemed. Maybe he could stay there, and live out his days in comfort, staying with the only human he'd ever met. A human that was incredibly nice, and didn't yell at him for being lazy.

He hated himself for being indecisive sometimes, and hated himself more of thinking of options. Adding onto the pile of hate was his knack of worrying about the future.

At least morning him wasn't worrying his nonexistent ass off.

That fucker ate some breakfast.

The sound of crunching gravel under tires filled the air, and he scrambled onto his belly, crawling up the roof so he could peer over the edge. It was easy to see that she was home - the headlights on the front of her truck were practically blinding. His night vision kicked in for the ground below and he watched her park her truck and get out, checking the time before shutting the door of her truck.

Stupidly, he greeted her from the roof. " 'sup?"

She jumped, looking upwards. "Sans? What the- how'd you get up there?!"

"i climbed."

"Get down! It's dangerous up there!"

" 'kay."

Well, one of his many maybes was checked off the long list. Hopefully it wouldn't grow longer. Present him could go focus on putting the deck furniture back, then very-close-future him could talk with (Y/n). He resigned his thinking for the night, saving it for the next day. Right now he could be happy that she, in fact, did return. That was something he could be really happy about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13.2 pages. Sorry I didn't update in awhile, but I got tons of One-Shots written. I've run out of current ideas, but now that I've reminded myself, expect about 6 by the time the next chapter of this is out. (The funny thing is that I can't tell if I'm joking, that might actually be the case.)
> 
> Did I mention that I have a discord server? It's kind of dead, but I'm sure that if a few active people join, it'll become active again. I really like talking with other people, and I'm on discord, like, 24/7. If you wanna talk with me, that's the place to go, really. I was thinking I could give people roles so they can be INSTANTLY pinged if I'm about to post a new chapter, or a one-shot, or anything you want, really. I absolutely love talking with people that like my writing. And sometimes I share bits of bloopers from what I'm currently writing, and sometimes share my thoughts n such. Not much nowadays because it's pretty much dead. Don't have a discord account? I recommend you get one, since that site is fucking amazing. https://discord.gg/EX89gB8 (make sure to DM me saying if you're a fan, writer, drawer, 2 of those, or all of the above. Also if you want a special role - those are an option, but nobody's requested any.)
> 
> This isn't a super-long chapter, but it's SOMETHING. Take some more Sans! Take a whole goddamn peek into the world I've created for Birdtale, while you're at it. As you can gather, it isn't your average imagined version of Birdtale. It's like people just slap some wings and a tail on Sans and send him out - no, no, he's part bird, so you're gonna make him act like a goddamn bird, you hear me? There isn't even a regular Barrier in this universe, as I'm sure you can figure out by the fact that they are going freely from the surface to Mt. Ebott. I'll explain more on that topic another time, but, for now, this is probably the biggest look into the world as you'll get for now. Hope you enjoyed, and please, for the love of writing, join my discord server.


	5. Chapter Four

Beams of sunlight streamed in from a hole in the cave ceiling far above, making the dirty ground seem to glow with warmth. The packed-dirt and stone walls had alcoves and niches where carefully woven nests were placed, ranging from ones big enough for a single foko, to the biggest, mammoth-sized nest that seemed to loom over them all. All of them were lined with various types of down feathers for comfort, the kind for monsters of older ages to sit comfortably for hours at a time without becoming sore. The ground below all of the nests was trampled dirt and patches of rough gravel, but a wooden stage had been constructed in the center. A podium was at the very end, facing the highest nest. The stage was barren, though the nests were not.

Monsters had begun to settle into the nests, some of the biggest fitting five at a time. The most regal-aired were settled close to the biggest nest, on higher nests and deeper alcoves. The farther down the nests went, the less royal they seemed to be. The niches and alcoves their nests were settled in became shallower, a few of the woven nests teetering on the very edges of falling. The material they were woven from became less sturdy. A few monsters sat on the floor, clinging to the walls and far away from the stage. The biggest nest had yet to be filled.

Soaring in from the looming cave entrance came the biggest monster, with the largest set of wings out of all of the monsters in the gathering. He was a goat monster, wearing a billowing purple cape with a black fur hood to hide his features. His wings were of undetermined species, but were predominately brown with black feathers mixed in. He landed gracefully into the biggest nest, settling. All of the other monsters went completely silent, looking up at their leader expectantly. He folded his wings, and cleared his throat.

"It has come to our kingdom's attention that a monster in a higher point of standing has gone missing on the surface, presumed to be taken by humans. One of the remaining two living of the Gaster family line. The flock he had been travelling with had been reckless in not picking up on his disappearance prior to returning to the Nest. He himself had been reckless in not keeping up with the rest of them, and not managing to get their attention soon enough to not be left behind. There have been no traces as to where he has gone, or even if he is alive...

"The floor is open to suggestions on how to deal with this situation."

His voice was commanding, echoing off every wall and reverberating into the hollow bones of each monster that perched in the court. Although no monster came to the stand to propose an idea, quiet discussion filled the air between monsters, brainstorming together and theorizing about where he could have gone, or what happened to him. Eyes occasionally flickered to the last remaining Gaster, the albino carrion crow that had been settled into a nest right under the king's very own. That was the place monsters excused from speaking out loud in the court were placed, or for monsters with no ranking. They were in the shadow of the king, and he would speak for them unless he ordered otherwise.

A shadow shifted, in one of the nests close to the king's. It was a rather large nest, and would likely be able to fit at least four small monsters inside, but it was mostly empty. The only monster settled inside was submerged in shadow, though in a quick movement they tore from the darkness and swooped down below, landing on the stage.

It was a red fox reynard, with a lustrous pelt that gleamed in the brightness of the sun. He held himself like royalty, as if he were the king instead of the massive monster that sat high above him. His blazing amber eyes burned defiantly into the king's gaze, and his lips curled into a smile that revealed his sharp white teeth. Across his left eye was a scar. Like the king's attire, he wore a hooded cape - it was as black as new moon's midnight, with the hood pooling around his shoulders. His ears were shoved forwards in a sign of dominance, and his fluffy, thick tail swept across the boards under him. He clasped his paws together behind his back, hidden by the cape.

His wings were those of a black-billed magpie, and were spread to allow the king to see what type of bird he was. His scapulars and primary feathers were white, tipped with black. His down feathers were black as well. The rest of the wing was a deep blue color, the edges the same charcoal black as the rest. The color shone vibrantly. After the king gave a small nod, he folded his wings once more across the back of his cape, and stepped up to the podium. He rested both of his slim black paws on the wood, and curled his lip further as he looked up at the king, showing off more of his teeth.

"Your  _Majesty,_ " his voice dripped with sarcasm, as he obviously did not enjoy calling the king by that title, but did anyway, perhaps just to spite some other monster. "I offer my services in finding the monster."

An uproar of disapproval followed. Monsters nearly leapt out of their nests like fledglings being thrown from the nests by their mother, a few nearly knocking over their nests as they lurched forwards in outrage. Many flared their wings and yelled insults at the reynard, who kept his steel gaze on the king. The king was looking around at his subjects, before he spread his wings and let out a deep caw calling for silence. The response was almost instant, stillness replacing the chaos that had ruled seconds prior.

The king's wings folded once again, and he leaned forwards in his nest to inspect the fox more closely. "Monsters who would like to openly object, go to the stage and declare your reasoning, otherwise your voice will not be taken in account for," he declared.

Multiple monsters dove and glided down to the stage, landing behind the reynard. The fox stepped backwards, moving to the side to watch as the first of the monsters stepped forwards. It was Undyne, a blue fish monster with the blue-gray wings of a kingfisher. She was the head of the flock that protected the Nest, and had great sway in gatherings such as the one being held because of it. The king himself looked to her for reports on the status of their isolation from humanity, and she had yet to let him down at her duty. The reynard's tail twitched as he looked her over, knowing that if she was against him, he was likely to not be put to the task of finding the monster at all.

She cleared her throat, one of her wings twitching as she spread them as customary for the king to identify her. As he nodded she swiftly shut them. "Your majesty, I believe that Lostflame should not be trusted with such a task as finding the missing Gaster. It is widely known that he can't be trusted with minor tasks, despite his heritage and ranking, since he will steal from you  _without hesitation_. Why would we trust him with finding a missing monster that could end our kingdom as he know it, if we can't trust him with something moderately shiny? I offer my own services, your majesty."

The king nodded, and she stepped away from the podium. "Rebuttal?" He looked at the reynard, who side-stepped back onto the podium.

" _I_  believe that Undyne's argument is not valid. There is a very obvious difference between what I can steal and what I cannot; it is quite hard to steal a person, and he is of no value to my collection since he doesn't shine whatsoever. I prefer owning objects that can't run away, either, and a person can definitely run away. On another note, Undyne's tracking magic is weak at best, if you can even call it 'tracking magic'. Mine is the best in the kingdom, and I offer it at your use." Lostflame did a small bow, looking up at the kind expectantly.

"Rebuttal from you, Undyne?" She hesitated, then shook her head, glaring at the fox who grinned slyly at her as he turned his head to look. "Any other points against Lostflame taking on the task?" He queried, though the other volunteers didn't step forwards. "All of you are dismissed. Lostflame, you are now tasked with having the Gaster back as soon as monsterly possible. Do whatever you need to do to keep our existence a secret from the humans, even if that means you have to kill some of them if they get in the way or have seen too much. Do you understand?"

Lostflame nodded.

"Dismissed."

~

Sans stood in front of her, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. She finished re-tightening the bandages, making sure they firm but not too firm. He peeked over his shoulder at her, then quickly looked back ahead when he realized she had glanced up at the same time. She rolled her eyes, taking a step back and glancing out of the window to the side. He stopped drumming his fingers on the counter and instead hoisted himself up, taking a seat on the edge.

"It'll probably be a week or two more before you're completely healed, but you're making pretty good progress. Surprising, since all week you've been fidgeting with your wing. Like you're doing now." He was half-opening his injured wing, and quickly snapped it shut as soon as she'd mentioned it. He withered under her gaze, and she sighed. "Do I not offer enough things to keep you occupied? I could pick something up-"

"you really don't need to! really. 'll be fine. you have more stuff here than i know what to do with. i don't need your special  _tweet_ ment." She chuckled, and watched as the white pin-pricks in his eyes shone. "isn't it  _a-parrot_ that i got 'nuff to do? guess you think 'm not  _emused._ " That got him a snort, and she covered her face with her hand in embarrassment. Before he could go into another bout of bird puns, she held up her other hand in a motion for him to stop.

"No more puns for today! I don't want another  _peep_  out of you." She dissolved into a fit of laughter at her own pun, and Sans chuckled. She cleared her throat, coughing once. "Ahem. Anyway. I need to head out to Pike Place to get some groceries, and I will pick something up besides that. If you want  _anything,_  now is the time to ask for it while I'm already going out. I was thinking of getting some figurines that you paint, since I know someone who's selling a lot of them right now, and I can get a discount. If you want one I could get you one," she offered.

He hopped off of the kitchen counter. "you know what, sure. get me somethin' cool-lookin', i guess. somethin'  _cheep."_

 _"_ I said no more puns!"

" 's a little too late for that," he mused. " 'll be watching TV  _owl_  by myself while i wait for you to get back."

She nodded, and left the kitchen to go get her keys.

~

The market bustled with life, a current of people flowing between small shops and isles, different places set up to sell different wares of all kinds. It was insanely popular, and she had a hard time trying to wade through the constant stream of people to try and get to her destination. First Avenue was popular for different crafts set up to be sold, and was more open than the buildings to her left. A stand was settled along the building, and she veered to the side to come to it.

A woman stood behind the stand, checking a few unpainted, bone-white sculptures. They ranged from a few dragons to birds in various poses, almost all of them having some sort of wing. As she approached, she got a smile from the woman behind the counter; she smiled in return, stopping in front of her. "(Y/n)! How  _are_  you? It's been... what? A month since we last met up? I still haven't used those feathers in anything yet."

"I've been well, and it really has been a long time, I suppose. I'm looking forward to see what you use those feathers in, since you did such a wonderful piece with them last time. How's business?" She picked up a bird sculpture that had caught her eye. It was of a crow perched on a branch, its head tilted to the side as it looked curiously at something to its side. A leaf had been attached to the end of the branch, and a few stubby twigs. As always, she enjoyed the textured feel the sculpture had that posed a challenge to the painter. She wondered if Sans would paint that one, or if she would. She checked the price at the bottom - a little over fifteen dollars.

"You would be really surprised on how many people have been buying these. I've hit a lucky break and got a ton of income recently. How have your sales been going?"

"Oh, absolutely marvelous. Last week I was out, all the way up in Northern Cascades. I managed to snap a ton of photos while I was there, and collected a bigger feather haul than last time. I've already almost sold them all! My most recent project has been a sculpture kind of like this one, except for its a jay. Made entirely of feathers and fluff, with a bit of wiring to keep it together. If it ends up to my liking I might keep it for awhile as decoration." She was gliding her fingers along the ridged branch, getting a feel of the texture. She decided that she would paint this one if she couldn't find a better one for Sans.

"I love Northern Cascades! I took a hike there a year back, such beautiful views. I'm excited to take a look at that sculpture, you absolutely  _have_  to send me some pictures! If you do decide to sell it I'd like to buy it myself, it already sounds like something I could put in my living room, honestly. Also, today I've deiced to be generous and give you a thirty percent discount instead of the usual fifteen, since business has been going so good. The one your holding was one of my favorites to do, by the way - it would be an honor if you painted that one!"

"Of course I will! It's amazing." She placed it back onto the counter, apart from the others. She picked up another sculpture - this one was a slim dragon that seemed to be made for the water, with a fish in its jaws. The price tag on the bottom labeled it to be only nine dollars. All together, with her discount, it would bring it up to eighteen dollars and thirty cents, which was a fair price. "I'll get these two. Love your work as always," she complimented, setting the dragon down beside the crow.

Her discount also didn't include tax, so she payed her that amount outright. "Five, ten, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen... wow, just enough dimes to reach thirty," she counted out, then placed her payment on the counter. She placed both of the sculptures safely into her backpack, into some cushioning she had inside of it already. "Thank you so much, Adrianne! I'll see you another time, hopefully sooner than a month from now," she grinned.

"Bye, (Y/n)! Remember to send me those pictures! And paint that crow really nice for me," she replied, grinning as well.

"Of course."

She finished her farewells and wandered back into the sea of bustling people, to go get the groceries she had intended to buy first. Her mind was buzzing with what colors she could mix to get the exactly right blend, what shades she would make for it. She imagined how it would feel to paint the branch, and how her brush would likely glide across the crow. She vaguely wondered the measurements she would need to make small aviator glasses out of cloth and stained glass, and let out a sudden snort out loud when she realized she was painting it to be like Sans. Nearby people gave her odd looks as she passed them, but she gave them no heed.

~

The rest of her shopping trip slipped past like sand through an hourglass, and she was home within a few hours. Her hands were occupied almost completely by bags that were stuffed to the brim with food, too burdened to allow her to open the door. Sans' face poked in the window for a moment before the door opened for her, with him standing in the doorway. He stepped to the side to allow her in, and he even closed the door behind her.

"took you long 'nuff." She walked to the kitchen to set the bags down. It felt like they had cut off all of the circulation in her hands. She heard that the TV was on; it was playing some sort of comedy show, with a laugh track blaring every few minutes as a poor joke was made. The last shreds of the sunset shone orange through the window, giving everything the same tint as Sans' glasses as she put everything she had away. She recalled that she still needed to fix his glasses; the strap had torn, and she'd yet to fix it so he could wear them again.

She set both of the sculptures down on the counter. He took immediate interest, hovering around them and inspecting each. He picked up the crow, testing its weight on his hand. "which one's mine?" He asked, looking up at her as she closed the refrigerator door. 

"The dragon," she replied, and he put the crow down to pick up the aquatic dragon instead. He inspected every inch of it, running his finger along the fin on its back and poking at its webbed claws, almost breaking off the edge of its gills. When he was satisfied it was to his liking, he placed it back down on the counter.

"it looks really cool. thanks. when're we gonna paint them?" He drummed his fingers on the counter of the island, where the sculptures had been placed. She found this to be increasingly annoying, though didn't say anything. Her face slightly crunched to the side, and he paused. Both of his hands folded behind his back, as if he was ashamed he'd been doing it at all. Her face went lax again.

"Tomorrow. It's a little late today, and it takes awhile to set up everything so its perfect. You can do yours first, unless you would like to watch me do mine to have an example," she offered. He shrugged in a noncommittal answer, slinking away to continue watching the droning of the TV. She glanced back down at the sculptures and decided it would be alright if she left them there, then turned around and wondered what she could make for dinner.

There were definitely the right ingredients for hamburgers, but she wasn't in the mood for those. Macaroni and cheese was always a favorite, so she kept that in mind if she didn't find anything else. Spaghetti was always an option as well as mac 'n cheese, so she could always choose between the two. Chicken and potatoes would take entirely too much time that she wasn't willing to spend making something for dinner. Breakfast for dinner was always enjoyable - that is, if she wanted to have dinner for breakfast another day, to even out the amount of food eaten. Fish was always on the menu, seeing as it was popular in the state. Pork loin was always an option as well.

After some considering, she decided on some fresh fish she had gotten at Pike Place. It was fresh-caught salmon, one of her favorite meals. She got out a pan and the olive oil, turning on the stove to medium heat and watching it simmer. When she was sure the pan was ready, she laid two slices of the fish on it, and started to cook.

It didn't take her too long to cook it, and she got it all ready and on plates in the dining room. Sans wandered into the room at the scent of his food, and she waved at where she had set his plate at the table. She took her own seat and he took his. "looks delicious," he complimented as he took his fork, stabbing off a piece and plucking it into his mouth. He idly moved around the rest of it, in circles on his plate.

"You literally always say that for everything I cook. I'm not even that good." She admitted to herself that it did taste better than some fish she'd had before, though she refused to take a compliment that was given to her so often. He rose a bone-brow at her as he plucked up another bite. She shrugged it off, taking another bite. "I'm self-taught, and the internet is really all I have to go off of. Maybe the occasional helping hand from an adult in my youth, but not much other than that... also a cookbook or two."

"the last thing i tried to cook ended up escaping my plate."

That had been unexpected, and caught her off guard. She wheezed and nearly choked on her fish, though swallowed before it could do any harm. "You can't be  _that_  bad at cooking. I'm sure that with a few instructions you could end up making something as good-tasting as I could make it."

"last time i tried to cook with instructions, it was for a simple fish, like what we're eating. let's just say that by the time i was done with it, nobody could tell it was a fish. i was told i made a piss-poor lump of charcoal." He was eating with a smile plastered on his face, barely wavering as his teeth parted for bites of food. He finished long before she did, since she had to take chuckle breaks during their conversation, otherwise she'd choke.

"I could give you lessons. What if I'm gone on another trip for a week, and can't cook for you? I don't want you burning the house down or something while I'm out."

"pfft, sure. during the lessons i'll still manage to set something ablaze," he bet, and they shared a bit of laughter as she finished her meal. He smiled a little wider as she picked up his plate and her own, going into the kitchen to wash them off and put them into the dish washer. She had her own smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11.1 pages of tRASH-... Ahem. I wrote this all in one damn day, and let me tell you, I'm not really happy with this. It's a little all over the place, there's too many timeskips, etc... but it gets my point across, and I had what I wanted to have. It seems like everything is going really well for them, right? Well, let me tell you, everything is about to crash into a ditch and spontaneously decombust.
> 
> In case you noticed it - that fox in the beginning is my foxsona. He's got his own story line in this AU, and you will definitely see a lot more from him. It's pretty obvious he's my foxsona, considering his name is literally Lostflame and he's  a fox, as my username would suggest.
> 
> Thanks to that one person who joined my discord server!


	6. Ran Out of Motivation

Hello everybody. I'm really sorry to say, but, I've run out of motivation for this fic. It doesn't usually happen to me, but, this fic has kinda run dry for me. I mulled over the future of it too much that I kinda stopped being interested in the middle, which was a big part I needed to get through first, so I've learned my lesson and I won't be doing that again. I'm sorry for those of you who really liked this.

That doesn't mean I'm done with Birdtale, or you'll never know the ending!

I'm working on developing another fic I can do with this AU. I can't just grasp an AU then completely stop toying around with it, can I? It'll be different from this one, but hopefully I won't mess this one up. I liked the writing for this (somewhat), so I'll leave it up on my profile for people to enjoy what I did finish. I might blend a few ideas into the new one, and I still haven't decided a firm path I'm taking with it, but expect one eventually alongside all of my others.

And I can't just leave my ending not told, so I'll leave a summary here. I might do one-shots that would be excerpts from this story, but I might never get around to that. It'll really just be key points. Anyway, the rest will be summary, so... if you don't want it, for whatever reason, don't read ahead.

 

The Lostflame sideplot involved him tracking them down after roughly a month, since he's better at tracking people who've gone north. The whole reason he wanted to go was to protect Rosefur, his sister, because he feels as though Sans was putting other monsters in danger being out there, including little innocent Rosefur. He finds them after that month and waits around for the perfect time to strike.

Sans got emotionally attached to the Reader pretty quickly, and crushed on her for a little while before Lostflame came. I planned this cute little thing where there was a storm, he got a little scared because the power went out and it caught him by surprise, and he spent the night with his nest in her room.

Lostflame strikes after a few days, and Reader's house goes up in flames. Sans, whose wing is now healed, can use his magic, and gets them the fuck outta there and kicks some fox ass. Lostflame is pretty confused, for obvious reasons. In that battle it's revealed that Sans does love the Reader, and she does care for him the same way. They come up with a solution to the situation - Lostflame takes them both back to the Underground, where the Reader fakes her death and lives there instead. The king isn't 100% happy with this for obvious king reasons, but he lets them stay anyway after making sure she has 0 contact with the surface and can't leave.

Happy ever after, and they even have 2 skele birb children, Rome (boy) and Spectral (girl), Rome being a bluejay (Reader's would-be bird species) and Spectral being her father's carrion crow wings. Cute lil twins.

 

Want a one-shot? I'll be happy to provide, if I can.


End file.
